


hello lover, don't forget me

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Ice Creature Yuri, Kissing, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Snow and Ice, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Otabek has never minded cold weather, but he loves the first storm of winter.





	hello lover, don't forget me

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: Being a magical creature in this, Yuri is older than Otabek, but is still described as looking like a teenager. Just a heads up in case that bothers anyone.
> 
> This was originally conceived as my idea for the YOI fantasy zine, but I didn't make it in. :) So I decided to write it anyway, since I haven't written any OtaYuri yet.
> 
> Thank you to [annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth) for the quick beta turnaround!

He’s walking home in the evening, two plastic grocery bags swinging heavy from his hands, when the first ice-edged wind whips through the streets, slicing right through the flannel of his shirt where his leather jacket hangs unzipped. Although his skin prickles with the chill, Otabek feels the corners of his mouth twitch into a brief, impulsive smile. He looks up, past the looming skyscrapers of concrete and glass. A gray blanket of clouds hangs low in the sky, so close to the earth that it engulfs the tips of the tallest buildings.

A woman on the sidewalk shoots him a brief, startled glance and pulls her purse tighter against her body as she rushes past him. On another night, Otabek might try to stop and get her attention, reassure her that he means no harm. Tonight, he only increases his own pace. If he hurries, he can reach home with time still left to prepare for his guest.

As the air chills around him, the city turns over. Citizens rush back to the warmth and safety of their homes, zipping their coats and pulling up their hoods. The sudden change to winter transforms the ordinary humans of the city into strange creatures with marshmallowy bodies and cowled faces. Steam billows from the grates in the sidewalk, laden with heat and the smells of the underground, and the few little dragonets who haven’t yet migrated curl against the metal, desperate to absorb this last surge of warmth before winter chases them away.

He opts for a shortcut through the park. The sidhe who frolicked here through the summer have long since packed their caravans and moved south, so he can cut across the grass unmolested. Far from the car horns and train trestles in the city center, the only sound is the beat of his own boots against the dirt.

On the other side of the park, his little brownstone sits pretty nestled among its siblings, all the matching windows streaming with warm, yellow light. 

The front door sticks when it’s cold out. After three years in this place, he knows it well. He puts his shoulder to the door until it gives way and allows him inside, then levers his back into it to secure the latch. As always, the heavy wooden door resists him at first, then gives in all at once with a screech that echoes in the stairwell.

He jogs up the stairs, grocery bags hoisted high on his shoulders. He has to dump everything on the mat to fumble his keys from a jacket pocket, then drags his food inside behind him, not even pausing the catch his breath.

He leaves the bags on the floor just inside and crosses to the first living room window. He clicks the latch open and then pushes the glass up, opening the window wide. A swirl of cold air hits him immediately, and he moves along to the next one. He continues until every window in his apartment is standing open. The temperature inside has dropped ten degrees within minutes.

With the most important task out of the way, Otabek returns to the kitchen to put away the milk. By the time all his groceries are safely tucked away, it’s nearly as cold inside his apartment as it is outside. Perfect. He shucks out of his jacket, hanging it on a peg by the front door, and lights the burner under the tea kettle before kicking his boots off into the corner.

He grabs a couple blankets from his closet and stacks them on the end of the sofa just as the kettle starts whistling. He settles in on the sofa with his tea and wraps one of the blankets around his shoulders. He pulls the mug in close to his chest, and stretches out to watch the window. 

Another cold breeze whips through the opening to lash at his face, and he shivers. 

He’s comfortable here in spite of the temperature, and with the heat of his mug spreading warmth across his face and hands, his eyelids quickly droop. 

Otabek shakes himself awake and sees a glint in the streetlight. Is that it? He sits up, leaning closer to the window, and watches as another tiny flake slowly drifts through the yellow light of the lamp. 

The first snow is here, and in the privacy of his apartment Otabek feels comfortable allowing himself a brief, triumphant grin. 

He watches as those first solitary flakes are soon joined by a multitude, swirling and dancing in the lamplight. Very little of it is likely to stick this early in the season, but he wishes the little crystals luck nonetheless.

A stiff breeze washes through his home, ruffling the papers on his desk and rattling his posters against the wall. Then, Yuri is standing in his living room.

Otabek lifts the tea to his mouth to delay speaking. He takes the opportunity to eye Yuri slowly, from the tips of his pointed ears to the curl of his ice-blue toes against the hardwood. He still looks like a scrawny teenager, but Otabek knows the draping, gauzy white clothes and lithe frame are deceivers. 

Yuri looks the same as he did three years ago, when Otabek pulled him out of a close call with a particularly moody Ifrit. Yuri’s look hasn’t changed in the last decade. Otabek doubts it ever will. 

He lowers the cup from his lips and says, “You’re pushing it pretty late this year. I thought you were going to miss Christmas.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, and the bells on his sleeves jingle softly as he crosses his arms. “Late or early, what does it matter? You’re not one of those assholes who whines about not getting a white Christmas every year, are you?”

“It’s not the _snow_ I want for Christmas,” Otabek says. He sets his mug on the coffee table and slides the blanket back off his shoulders. Yuri looks around the room, searching for something he can focus on that isn’t Otabek. It would be fun to tease Yuri no matter what, he thinks, but there’s a particular joy in flustering a creature of frost.

“Sit and watch the snow with me?” he asks quietly. 

Yuri nods, then sits down on the cool floor, curling his legs up so his chin rests against his knees. He watches out the window, but Otabek can't take his eyes off the frozen creature on his floor. 

Neither could have predicted they'd wind up here on that icy night ten years ago when Yuri had found Otabek barefoot on the city sidewalk, crystalline tears in the corners of his eyes. Certainly, Otabek had never expected to see Yuri again.

Even then, he’d been drawn in by Yuri’s eyes, silvered green like the underside of a new leaf. Yuri may have looked like a boy, just a few years older than Otabek and out in the cold, but the eyes gave him away as something much older than he appeared. 

Those same eyes dart over now, looking at Otabek with undisguised suspicion as Yuri tucks his long hair behind one pointed ear. “What?” he snaps, and it never stops being amusing that an ice spirit would have such a hot temper. “Stop staring.”

“Don’t you get tired of seeing the snow?” Otabek asks. “It must get old.”

“No,” Yuri shrugs, turning back to the window. “The first snow is special,” he adds softly. “It’s easy to get tired at the end of the season, but this? This is magic.”

Otabek smiles, still watching Yuri. “I think so too.”

Silence stretches between them, the sounds of city traffic muffled by the soft drift of the snowflakes outside the window. Wedged into the corner of the couch, Otabek suddenly begins to shiver, and he wraps his arms tightly around himself.

Yuuri looks over at the movement, eyes narrowed. “Your lips are turning blue,” he says.

“Good,” Otabek responds. He opens his arms wide. “We match. _Now_ will you come over here?”

Yuri huffs at him, but rises from his place on the floor with a single fluid motion and crosses the room. He crawls onto the couch and straddles Otabek’s thighs, hovering over him like a tiger pinning its prey. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Yuri asks, leaning in close. His pale blond hair falls around their faces, and his breath on Otabek’s lips puts the icy wind outside to shame. 

“Closer,” Otabek whispers, smirking, but he doesn’t move.

Yuri leans in slowly, and their lips meet. It starts as just a brush, an edging of frost barely grazing a petal, and then Yuri presses in closer. 

Everywhere they touch, Otabek feels inflamed. Surely he was cold moments ago, but in contrast to Yuri he is a phoenix, combusting. He tangles his hands in Yuri’s hair, tilting his head back to nip at the pale column of his neck, and Yuri gasps, settling their bodies more firmly together.

Yuri wrenches his head from Otabek’s grasp, diving down to kiss him again, and Otabek parts his lips. Their tongues meet, tangling hot and cold, and Otabek hopes for steam but doesn’t see it. His fingers clutch at Yuri’s thighs and he makes a desperate, wounded sound. 

Yuri responds in kind, gripping his upper arms for a moment. Then he jerks away, covering his mouth with one hand. 

He glares down at Otabek, flushed and panting beneath him. “You burned my tongue,” Yuri slurs accusingly.

Otabek chuckles and covers his face, trying to calm down. The chill of Yuri’s body conspires with the wind, and soon he’s shivering again. Before he can protest, Yuri’s clambering down to the other end of the sofa. He throws the spare blanket, which lands on Otabek’s chest. 

“Take care of yourself, idiot,” Yuri scolds him, and Otabek obligingly cocoons himself back in the blankets and picks up his tea. The mug’s gone cold, but he doesn’t mind a little chill.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, making more room for Yuri at the end of the sofa. Outside, the first breath of winter is still dancing along the rooftops.

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://louciferish.tumblr.com/).


End file.
